Ethiopia’s Green Leap or Policy Overreach? The Politics, Perils and Promises of the Fuel Ban
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By E Frashie Ethiopian Tribune correspondent
When Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed announced that Ethiopia would no longer import fuel-powered trucks, he framed the decision as an act of national renewal a bold declaration that Africa’s second-most populous country was ready to lead the continent’s green revolution. But in the days that followed, muted applause gave way to unease. To many inside and outside the country, Ethiopia’s rush towards electrification looks less like a calculated transition and more like a perilous gamble.
The ban, which took effect on 3 October, extends the government’s earlier prohibition on petrol and diesel cars introduced in 2024. Together, they are intended to propel Ethiopia towards carbon-neutral growth by 2030. Yet critics say the policy has outpaced the nation’s readiness by years. Roads remain dominated by ageing diesel trucks, electricity supply is unreliable, and the infrastructure to support electric mobility is skeletal at best.
“The country is forcing an electric future on an analogue economy,” said one economist in Addis Ababa, who asked not to be named due to fears of reprisal. “We lack the grid capacity, charging stations, and maintenance expertise to sustain this change. Logistics will stall, and prices will rise.”
International institutions have voiced similar misgivings. Several development partners have privately urged the government to phase in restrictions rather than impose an outright ban, warning of disruptions to domestic trade and exports. One Western diplomat described the move as “symbolically impressive, but economically reckless”, noting that Ethiopia’s power grid, heavily reliant on hydropower, is vulnerable to droughts and fluctuations in water flow.
Opposition voices, though cautious in public, have condemned what they call “green authoritarianism”. Many argue that the government’s approach prioritises global image over local survival. “It’s environmental posturing,” said an opposition figure reached by phone. “The urban poor, farmers, and long-haul drivers will pay the cost of this experiment while officials take the credit.”
Academics and social researchers share that concern. One social scientist said the state’s climate rhetoric has taken on “a quasi-ideological function”, used to project modernity and control rather than to build sustainable systems. “There is a pattern of announcing transformative policies without preparing the institutions to deliver them,” she added.
Government-aligned commentators, by contrast, have glorified the policy as a national awakening, a sovereign stand against dependence on imported oil. They argue that electrification will save foreign currency, reduce urban pollution, and stimulate domestic vehicle assembly. In official media, the Prime Minister has been portrayed as a visionary reformer defying global norms and leading Africa into a clean-energy future.
Yet beneath the triumphalism lies a harsher economic reality. The beneficiaries of this transition are likely to be a narrow circle of importers, renewable energy developers, and conversion firms, many of them connected to political elites. Meanwhile, small transport operators, mechanics, and cross-border drivers face unemployment or bankruptcy.
Regional inequalities also loom large. The highland regions of Amhara and Tigray, already weakened by years of conflict and political marginalisation, are set to lose the most. With limited representation in the design and rollout of the new transport policy, these areas risk exclusion from the emerging green economy. The manufacturing hubs and assembly plants targeted for government investment are concentrated around Addis Ababa, Adama and Hawassa, leaving the highlands further sidelined. “The policy favours the centre,” said one observer familiar with the government’s infrastructure plans. “It’s another example of how the economic map is being redrawn with power and investment clustering in the hands of those close to the capital.”
Abroad, reactions have been mixed. The United States has offered cautious praise for Ethiopia’s renewable energy ambitions but has quietly questioned the timing and governance of the policy. Officials in Washington are understood to be wary of its economic fallout, warning that abrupt shifts in transport and logistics could deter foreign investors and complicate humanitarian operations. “The vision is admirable,” said one analyst familiar with U.S. thinking, “but without stability and inclusivity, it risks undermining the very development it seeks to promote.”
Compounding the challenge is Ethiopia’s chronic lack of transport alternatives. The national railway system remains incomplete, the Addis–Djibouti line runs below capacity, and rural cargo still depends on diesel trucks. Drone logistics, a technology that could have eased the transition, is trapped in bureaucratic limbo, while aviation though buoyed by Ethiopian Airlines, struggles with soaring costs and poor domestic infrastructure.
For now, Ethiopia’s path to a greener future seems caught between vision and viability. The government’s determination to lead Africa’s energy transition cannot be faulted for ambition, but its haste risks deepening the fractures it claims to heal. As one European observer put it, “Ethiopia’s transport policy has become a race between ideology and infrastructure and ideology is still running ahead.”
For a country still recovering from inflation, conflict and regional resentment, the transition to a post-fossil economy may prove less a triumph than a test, one that will determine whether Ethiopia’s green revolution is remembered as a leap forward, or a stumble into uncertainty.
